Back Against the Wall
by Onlysomeofthetime
Summary: When one of their most valuable players defects and joins the Decepticons, the Autobots are left to pick up the pieces and wonder why.  Rated T, maybe M in later chapters.
1. Back Against the Wall

Blanket of silence makes me wanna sink my teeth in deep  
>Burn all the evidence, a fabricated disbelief<br>Pull back the curtains took a look into your eyes  
>My tongue has now become a platform for your lies<p>

-Cage the Elephant

"Prime?" That tone sounded so out of place. Optimus slowly looked at his 2IC. On his usually immaculate armor, shrapnel damage had left ugly scars that were waiting to be painted over, but compared to the rest of his team, Prowl was one of the best off. Ratchet had barely looked at him before sending him out of the medbay to let autorepair take care of the slight damages and leaks.

"What are we going to do?" he asked. Optimus was almost surprised to hear the lost, hollow tone of his voice. But then again, after a betrayal such as this, they were all reeling. He could tell Prowl was blaming himself for not seeing it sooner. Optimus couldn't deny that he was doing much of the same.

"I'm telling you, something isn't right," Ratchet said gruffly, his one remaining arm holding a cube of energon so tight it was denting the square edges.

"What ain't right about it?" Ironhide drawled. "Ya tried ta help 'im after that blast hit 'im and he ripped yer fraggin' arm off—"

"And then systematically took down everyone in sight with a few well-placed shots," Red Alert interrupted, his sensor horns sparking dangerously. "You can't say it was just a nasty knock to the head—there was no disorientation in that aim! It was deliberate and it was accurate. Bluestreak and Sideswipe are lucky to be alive right now—Hound will be in cryo for the next two _weeks_!"

Ratchet slammed the half empty cube down on the conference table, splattering pink over the surface. "Don't you think I fragging know that? _I'm_ the one who had to patch everyone back together one handed and _I'm still _telling you something's wrong!" he snapped back, glaring at the Security Director. "Hate to inform you that your cameras don't see everything – but they obviously missed the look on that mech's face! He was _terrified_. Something on that battlefield scared the ever living slag out of him and let me ask you this—have you ever seen Jazz look _scared _before?" he said, glaring around the table. When no one answered he gave an angry huff of his vents. "Didn't think so."

A long silence stretched across the table and Optimus sighed, so quiet it was almost non-existent. "Regardless," Prowl said quietly. "Even if his attack was some sort of panic reaction… that doesn't explain why he willingly joined with the triple-changers to finish driving Superion back."

"He _knew_ th' battle plan—he _knew _th' formations. We didn't stand a slaggin' chance with 'im barkin' orders like he was the ol' slagmaker himself," Ironhide said and sat back gingerly, careful of the still sore acid pellet wound that sprawled across his back like a welt.

Optimus retracted his face mask and rubbed his cheek. "We need to look at this from the beginning of the battle—if Ratchet's speculations are true, there has to be _some _explanation for his actions," Optimus said quietly.

"He drove in with me," Prowl said instantly. "He seemed… perfectly normal. He was talking to Bumblebee and Mirage. Preparing them mentally for the fight."

Optimus nodded. "We engaged the Decepticons a mile outside of the power plant. Did anyone see what happened then?" he asked and looked at Ratchet. The medic usually stayed towards the back for field injuries which also meant he usually saw more than the rest of them.

Ratchet shrugged. "It seemed like a pretty typical fight. We'd caught them off guard. I don't remember seeing him before he got hit but—"

"He was next to me the entire time," Prowl said. Optimus knew that the two of them usually fought side by side. Jazz's improvisation mixed with Prowl's battle computer were a very power combination—it was why he had made them his second and third in command in the first place. They worked well together and excelled where the other fell short.

"I saw Soundwave shoot off that mortar—Jazz must have seen it too," Ratchet said and rubbed his head.

Prowl swallowed and drummed his fingers on the table, a rare nervous habit others usually never saw. It paid testament to how this ordeal had rattled him. "He shoved me down and shielded me when the mortar hit. I got a little bit of shrapnel damage but Jazz's back was shredded because of it. He tried to keep fighting, but he just looked… so tired," he said. "I finally sent him to Ratchet."

Optimus nodded and looked at the medic. Ratchet shrugged. "His armor was slagged—there were a few deep cuts and he was leaking in a couple places but… he seemed distracted when I was working on him. He kept wincing, even when I wasn't touching him and then he just kind of… exploded." He shook his head. "I can't even describe it. It was like… flipping a light on. One second he was okay, the next, he was ripping my slagging arm off. He moved so damn fast, I couldn't do a thing about it." Ratchet ran a hand over his chevron. "Primus, the look on his face… I don't care what you say—that was the look of a cornered animal."

A long silence followed as everyone in the conference room digested the information, but it was Ironhide that spoke up first, his anger radiating in his voice. "Maybe, just maybe what he did on th' field could be excused—a lack o' judgment, or a-a panic attack or somethin'— _if _he had come back ta face up to what he did here," he said. "Did he come back with us after th' fight? No. He stayed with the enemy and went back to th' slaggin' Nemesis!" he growled and slammed his fist against the table. "He defected—that's all there is to it."

"From what I've watched on the recordings, I agree with Ironhide," Red Alert said and crossed his arms obstinately over his chassis before looking at Optimus. "Sir, after you called the retreat, my cameras recorded Jazz joining the Decepticons in siphoning off whatever energon they could from the power plant before retreating west, towards the Nemesis with their spoils," he said.

They all looked at him, searching for an answer, a decision. "What are we going to do, Optimus?" Prowl asked again.

Optimus rested his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers in front of his uncovered face. Only in their company did he ever remove his mask. It was a show of trust—a trust that had just been betrayed so harshly. He looked around at his officers before his optics settled on the empty chair that sat directly across from him. He sighed quietly and closed his optics, pushing his personal weariness and hurt aside for the good of the cause. When he opened his optics, the normal calm blue turned to ice as the Prime emerged.

"As of now, Jazz is considered a traitor to the Autobot cause," he said, his authority ringing in his voice, even though he barely spoke above a whisper. "He is hereby stripped of his rank as third in command and head of special operations. He is an extreme liability as his former rank and specialization made him privy to valuable intelligence. Our priority is capturing him and bringing him to the Ark to face justice… and hopefully find an explanation for all of this."

* * *

><p>Soundwave led their new recruit through the halls of the Nemesis, heading from medical at Megatron's order. He had no doubt that Jazz knew where he was going—he had been here many times before, whether as a prisoner or a spy. Regardless, he now followed him like a shadow as they walked through the dark and dripping hallways far under the surface of the ocean. The smaller mech kept his head down as they walked into Megatron's conference room, though it was more accurate to call it a throne room. The Slagmaker sat on a raised pedestal while Starscream paced on the ground next to it, his wings held high and tense.<p>

Soundwave bowed as he approached and watched as Jazz bent to one knee before the silver mech. Megatron looked pleased beyond words as he indulged in a cube of high grade, made from the excess spoils of their most recent battle. "It's been a long while since we've had high grade in the Nemesis," he said as he looked at the violently pink cube. "A luxury that wouldn't have been possible without your… intervention today."

Jazz was tense even as he knelt, the light of his visor narrowed into a glare. Soundwave had no need to pry into the mech's processor to feel the anger radiating off of him in waves. Megatron smirked and took an idle sip of his cube. "Soundwave said it was only a matter of time," he said. "I have to admit, I doubted him. But once again, Soundwave, you have gone above and beyond expectations. You will be rewarded for your efforts."

Soundwave couldn't help but smile behind his mask. "Jazz's presence, only reward necessary," he said. Jazz's dentals were grit so tightly, Soundwave could hear the metal grinding from where he stood next to him.

Megatron grinned wolfishly and set his cube down on his armrest. "Head of Autobot special operations and third-in-command, social butterfly—privy to all the insider information in the Ark," Megatron continued. "Not to mention an experienced saboteur and spy. You are very welcome here, Jazz."

He finished off his cube before tossing the empty container to Starscream who scowled even as he caught it.

"This is unwise," the seeker growled. "There's no telling how strong of a—"

"Silence, Starscream," Megatron snapped. "Jazz's presence here is a gift. We'll do well to make use of him." Starscream was visibly restraining himself but, to his credit, he kept his silence. Megatron got to his feet and stepped down from his throne, heavy footfalls echoing in the silence chamber. "Rise."

Jazz slowly got to his feet, moving like a weight was pressing down on his shoulders. He stood in front of the mech, face lifted up defiantly to stare him down, even though Megatron towered over him. The silver mech smirk as he looked him over before one big hand reached up and scraped down Jazz's chassis, effectively destroying the Autobot symbol painted on the surface and leaving long gouges in his armor. Jazz didn't even flinch.

Megatron looked a little disappointed. "Soundwave, why don't you show our newest recruit to his new quarters?" he said.

Soundwave nodded and bowed before turning to leave. Jazz was quick to follow, but Megatron stopped him. "Aren't you forgetting something, Jazz?" Megatron asked, voice soft and condescending.

Jazz turned to face the mech again, his face carefully blank even as he bowed low. "Thank ya for your benevolence, m' Lord," he said flatly. "I'll be sure it's repaid equally." Megatron smirked and Soundwave knew he didn't hear the threat of a promise in the mech's words.

The defiant stance was gone as soon as they exited the throne room, leaving Jazz withered and tired looking, shoulders slumped and head down. He followed Soundwave silently through the dark halls until they reached the brig. Soundwave opened a cell and motioned for Jazz to step inside. The mech twitched, his hands clenching into fists at his side before he obliged, stepping into the cell like he was walking into a tomb. Soundwave closed the doors and activated the energy bars, peering in at their new guest and allowing himself to relax for the first time that day.

Jazz relaxed as well and cracked his knuckles, shaking himself off like a dog shaking off water. His visor flashed as he looked out at Soundwave. Slowly, he stepped towards him, wrapping his hands around the bars. They sparked and flashed where the energy met his hand but Jazz held on, apparently not feeling the pain. He looked at Soundwave with such a look of loathing, the tape deck felt something almost akin to guilt pang at his system. He brushed it aside quickly. This was war. It had been for millennia.

Jazz tightened his grip on the bars, making them spark and flash brighter, illuminating his face in stark detail. "Before this is over, I will end you," Jazz said, voice lowered into a deadly promise.

Soundwave tilted his head and smirked behind his mask as Jazz stiffened suddenly. He leaned forward and grabbed Jazz's chin before retracting his mask and pressing a soft kiss against his lips. He felt the warmth of the energy bars centimeters away from his face mix with the heat of rage coming from the other mech. His system purred and he grinned, "You will not succeed."


	2. Iron

Sorry this chapter took so long! It's been a hectic time to say the least, but hopefully things will slow down now that Christmas is almost done with. Just as a side note, this story and my other one, Dead Past, takes place in the same universe so if you squint reeaaal hard, you can get clues into what's going to happen in each of them :D Anyway, enjoy! Read and tell me what you think!

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><p>I am...<p>

A soldier on my own, I don't know the way

I'm riding up the heights of shame

I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest

I'm ready for the fight, and fate

-Woodkid

Prowl hadn't slept in days. He, Smokescreen and Optimus had been pouring over battle plans and formations, altering them past the point of recognition and adding yet another processor ache on top of the numerous ones Prowl was already experiencing. It was their only option—Jazz knew all of their strategies, had even had a part in creating many of them, and there was no telling how much of that information he had passed onto the Decepticons. As much as Prowl hated sacrificing efficiency for secrecy, it was a necessary evil at this point.

Autobot command had named Bumblebee the new head of Spec. Ops, which the little yellow bot didn't like one bit. He complained of his lack of experience, his age, his bad maintenance, anything to try avoid taking the spot that was, in his mind, rightfully Jazz's. Optimus had made a deal with him that if he could find and convince Mirage to take the position, he would allow it. Mirage had, not surprisingly, disappeared. The Spec. Ops team was a close knit bunch, and it came as no surprise to Prowl or Optimus that they held to the idea of Jazz's innocence like a lifeline.

"Wait until we get him back—something isn't right!" Bumblebee had said. "There has to be some explanation. I know Jazz, he wouldn't do this!"

Prowl had thought he knew Jazz too. He had been his closest friend since the beginning of the war. He'd worked alongside him at the Peacekeeper Headquarters in Tarn until it had been overrun and then again in Iacon. They'd survived the destruction of Cybertron together, that one cataclysmic event that had broken the lives of so many. When he'd been assigned to the Ark during the great evacuation, he'd been the one to bring Jazz over from the Xantium. They had left their home together and found a new one on Earth. 6 million years of friendship, and nothing Jazz had ever done indicated Decepticon sympathies. Not one slagging thing.

No, something most certainly wasn't right.

Perhaps Prowl was clinging to the hope of his innocence as well. Perhaps he was letting his emotions blind his logic. But no, even his logical mind that was playing the events of the battle and the moments leading up to it over and over and over again said that something was off. As Ratchet had said, it was like a light switching on. There was no indication that Jazz had any idea of what was going to happen before it did, like he was blindsided by his own betrayal.

The idea of mind control had crossed Prowl's processor, but he knew that couldn't be the case. He never thought he'd be disappointed to rule out something as taboo and wrong as a full processor invasion, but he was. It at least would have taken the blame off of Jazz and placed it onto Soundwave, reconstructing the solid wall of moralities and alliances between Autobots and Decepticons, good and evil.

Unfortunately, Soundwave had met his match in Jazz over the years. With the numerous times Jazz had infiltrated the Nemesis and even come face to face with the telepath in battle, Soundwave had tried, and failed to break through the mech's mental barriers. Jazz had even gone down to the brig the one rare occasion when they managed to capture Soundwave and, under Prowl's supervision, he'd watched the telepath attempt and fail, multiple times, to break into Jazz's mind. Both mechs had nearly been in stasis by the end of it, but Jazz had withheld and emerged the victor. Exhausted and allowing himself to be half dragged, half carried by Prowl, Jazz had titled his head up, grinned his trademark grin and said, "Told ya I'd win."

It was a twisted game of will power, one that Jazz had always won. Besides, from what Prowl had witnessed, it was an exhausting activity for both parties and Prowl seriously doubted that Soundwave had managed to break into Jazz's mind and keep control of him during the heat of battle. It just wasn't logical. No, there had to be something else at play, something Prowl just hadn't found yet.

He pinioned his hope on that, holding out for the moment when all would be made clear. He even went as far as explaining his reasoning to Optimus in hopes of reversing the Prime's sentence. The big mech had just held up a patient hand and said, "We retrieve Jazz first. Then we can speak of guilt and innocence."

As heavily as it weighed on his processor, Prowl knew he wasn't the only one feeling the burden of Jazz's betrayal. The weight of it could be seen in the slumped shoulders as they walked through the hall or the sheer silence that occupied the rec. room. Demoralization on the Ark had reached a new low and the one person who was always trusted to bring everyone out of their funk was the exact person who had caused it.

Red Alert was in a panic. Changing every password in Teletraan's database was no easy task, and reprogramming the security protocols to identify and target one of their own was a heartbreaking chore. Ironhide's usual roughness had turned to sandpaper with his promotion from weapons specialist to third in command, and he'd gained the habit of snapping at anyone who crossed him the wrong way. Even the twins, who usually had no tact in consideration to people's moods, were staying clear of him. Optimus had donned the face of the Prime, walking tall and strong through the halls, trying to inspire hope no matter how hard it was to find.

Prowl kept his normal cool façade, but his mind felt like a beehive, buzzing and stinging, swarming en masse until he couldn't think of much else as it demanded answers that he couldn't possibly begin to provide. And then the alarms sounded, adding one more noise to the cacophony in his head.

"Are you sure you can do this?"

"Yeah, I'm fine—I got this," he said, succinctly for once.

"Because if you're not okay with this, we can come up with another plan- "

"Prowl, I _got _this."

The black and white mech sighed and patted his shoulder. "If you're sure…"

Bluestreak gave a small smile as he looked up at his mentor. "I'm sure," he said quietly. "Got an inhibitor pulse loaded—as long as I don't hit him in the head, it won't kill him. It may not even hurt too much."

Prowl knew the young gunner was scared slagless of the task, but he had to commend the mech's stamina. Not everyone was faring as well seeing their friend fighting on the other side of the field. Even Prowl had to admit he was affected by the sight of him. Jazz looked just as he always did except instead of the usual easy going smile, his face was grim and humorless and the Autobot insignia on his chassis had been desecrated with scratches. Prowl watched him level his blaster coldly at the Autobot lines and pull the trigger before he had to look away. He patted Blue's shoulder and said, "Good luck. Comm. me when it happens."

Blue nodded, keeping his optic hooked into the scope of his rifle as he watched the fight. Prowl hurried down from the cliff to join the rest of the Autobots, trying to gather his scattered thoughts and focus them on the fight at hand. He found Optimus shouting orders to some of the minibots to aid in evacuating the power plant. The Decepticons were hitting hard and fast, apparently emboldened by their previous victory and trying to add to their energon reserves.

Prowl joined his leader and said, "Bluestreak's in position."

"Do you think he can manage it?" Optimus asked, not taking his optics off of the developing fight.

Prowl gave a helpless shrug. "If it was any Decepticon, I'd say yes without a doubt, but this is Jazz."

Optimus nodded. "We'll try to spare him the necessity if we can," the big mech rumbled as he glared at the developing fight. "They're taunting us with him. They brought him to the fight to demoralize us but they're protecting him like guard dogs."

Prowl nodded as he watched Jazz fire from behind a cover of very angry triplechangers. "We need to break them up—get him away from them," Prowl said. "The inhibitor pulse won't do us any good if they get to him first."

Optimus gave a curt nod of agreement before Prowl got on his Comm. "Arialbots, focus your attack on the triple changers—drive them away," he ordered.

Silverbots static laden voice cracked to life over the frequency. "The seekers have just engaged, Prowl. We can't break away," he said.

Prowl swore and looked towards the sky. Through the grey cloud cover, he could see flashes like lightning. The rest of their forces were already taking heavy hits and he quickly assessed anyone that wasn't directly engaged but Optimus beat him to it.

"Bumblebee, Sideswipe, Warpath, you're with me and Prowl," he said. "Drive the triplechangers back—we need to get Jazz in the open."

He heard Sideswipe's whoop of joy over the Comm. "Let's get our boy back!" he crowed. The red twin apparently held no grudges against Jazz, even though the mech had nearly killed him during their last fight. Prowl couldn't help but grin, the giddy recklessness of battle infecting even his processor. They could do this. They could get Jazz back.

It was organized chaos, as always, as the group rushed into the fray. Optimus led the way, his ax and gun brought forward. He slammed like a hurricane into anyone that was unfortunate to step or trip into his path, sparks flying as armor crashed together with ringing clangs. Pulling out his pistol, Prowl reloaded a clip of acid pellets and followed close behind, shooting anything and everything that wore a purple sigil. Behind him, an accurate onomatopoeia to the battle, Warpath's voice rang out as he gleefully shot at the Decepticons that fled in their wake. The two triplechangers were waiting for them and they moved in front of Jazz, acting as a shield for the smaller mech. Jazz, on the other hand, backed away though he continued to loose shot after shot at them, coming dangerously close to striking home.

The collision of Optimus and Astrotrain was thunderous as the two big mechs slammed against one another, hands locked in a bizarre dance. Sideswipe intervened and skidded under his leader's legs in movement better suited for a gymnast than a frontliner, before aiming up and shooting Astrotrain directly in the codpiece. Astrotrain howled but it took one last backfist to the head by Optimus to send him to the ground where he stayed. On some other part of the field, Prowl could swear he heard Sunstreaker laughing.

Blitzwing looked far more afraid as Optimus turned onto him next and Sideswipe rushed forward with a warriors enthusiasm. Prowl trusted Warpath to cover their rear and turned his attention to Jazz. The black and white mech realized his cover was gone and he turned and ran. "Retreat" wasn't usually a word Jazz used and Prowl felt a surge of anger seeing his friend run like the Decepticon coward he had become. Without a hesitation, he chased after him, carefully aiming at his feet. Jazz was fast, always had been, and Prowl couldn't seem to hit him, even with the splatter of his acid pellets.

Instead, he transformed, revving his engine and shooting after the visored mech. Over the din of the battle, Jazz didn't seem to hear him as he dove for cover behind a rock pile. Prowl was on him in moments and transformed, leaping over the rocks in one quick movement, gun drawn and ready.

Jazz was, unfortunately, waiting for him. He grabbed Prowl and swung him around, pinning him up against the rocks before he grabbed his gun arm and slammed it against the rock, hard enough to crack armor. With a shout of pain, Prowl dropped his gun even as he free hand reached into subspace, pulling out his energy blade. It crackled to life as he brought it against Jazz's side, digging the edge under an armor plate in his abdomen, just shy of stabbing it through something vital. He felt the warm barrel of Jazz's gun press against his temple and swallowed.

Stalemate.

Both of them vented hard, neither daring to move. Prowl kept the blade carefully at his side even as he glared into the traitorous face of his friend, so close to his own. Jazz's expression was unreadable but after a moment of charged calm, Prowl noticed that his gun arm was shaking where it held the pistol against his helm.

"You don't want to do this," Prowl said, sensing a weakness.

Jazz let out a small laugh with a frantic edge, like stepping out onto a glass walkway hundreds of feet in the air. It sounded so close to his old self that it made Prowl ache. "No, I don't," he said, his voice trembling. His face twisted, the sardonic grin morphing into a grimace of something akin to agony. His arm started shaking harder and Prowl's optics widened even as he tightened his grip on his knife, digging it just a little deeper. Jazz's vents sputtered and stalled as though someone was choking him. "Please, help me," he gasped, his voice so quiet Prowl could barely hear it.

Despite the gun against his head, Prowl's optics brightened, hope swelling in his chassis. His speculations were right—something wasn't right. He was about to say something, anything to reassure him, tell him that they would get him back and all would be well, but Jazz moved too quickly. He pulled the gun away from Prowl's head and pressed it against a doorwing, still pinned against the rock before shooting one blast straight through.

Before Prowl's world dissolved in a garble of pain and error messages, he saw Jazz stagger back and fall, as though he'd run into an invisible force field at high speed. Sparks danced over his body and he convulsed once before falling still. Prowl let his head hit the ground, his optics close.

Good ol' Bluestreak. The inhibitor pulse had hit home.

* * *

><p>Prowl woke under the orange ceiling of the medbay. Everything felt muted, and he knew from experience that Ratchet had disabled the sensors to his doorwings until repairs could be made. Slowly, he sat up, ignoring how it made his head spin. He hissed when he put weight on his injured arm and quickly pulled off of it, cradling it to his chassis.<p>

The medbay was a mess. There were injured mechs occupying more than half of the berths and Prowl couldn't begrudge Ratchet for letting him sit with his injuries. There were others who were far worse off. He scanned the tables, but he didn't see any sign of Jazz. With his good arm, he caught the CMO as he walked past. "Well?" he asked, trying not to get his hopes up and failing.

Ratchet looked at him with the tired optics of someone who had seen far too much and simply shook his head. Prowl deflated, his hope abandoning him as he sank back onto the medical berth, his aches and pains somehow becoming more pronounced with the revelation.

"Soundwave took him back," a quiet voice said. Prowl looked over at the berth next to his and Bluestreak sat with his leg's dangled over the edge, one optic smoky and black. "He must have caught sight of me after I hit him. Ravage and the twins kept guard over him… no one was close enough to get to him before Soundwave did. I tried to shoot them off but Laserbeak snuck up on me—shot something at my gun. It backfired and scorched my optic," he said. The young gunner swallowed and looked down. "'M sorry… I thought we had him."

Prowl gave a small smile and leaned over, patting his shoulder with his good hand. "You did exactly as you were supposed to, Blue," he said. "I'm proud of you." The young Praxian looked up and gave a small, wavering smile. "We'll get him next time," he said, trying to believe his own un-truth.

Blue's face brightened up just a little bit, daring to hope. Prowl forced a smile, tried to share his sentiment, but hope was getting harder and harder to find.


	3. The Scarecrow Speaks

I have no excuse for why this took so long. It was just a damndably hard chapter to write, despite how pathetically short it turned out. Thank you guys for the lovely comments! I can't wait to ready what you think. Also, out of sheer curiosity, is anyone checking out the songs in the titles? I'm grabbing from all different genres cause ya just got to when it's a Jazz-centric story :D

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><p>I consider myself blessed when I think,<br>floating up above the majority makes others look like they sink.  
>Hating, you give up nothing, love, you give it up all,<br>so I smirk at all of y'all while you await my downfall.

-Alias, Deep Puddle Dynamics

It was an annoyingly long recovery for Prowl. Door wing injuries were a nuisance like that. Compromised balance was something he could deal with, but the concentration issues that accompanied the numbing of such delicate sensors was not. He had been staring at the report that glared at him from his computer terminal for the past twenty minutes and he couldn't seem to finish it.

Prime had asked him to give a write up of what had happened with Jazz on the battlefield. It should have been easy—a two minute objective recap of what he had experienced, but he couldn't seem to find the words. Even now, after hours of replaying and analyzing the fight, he couldn't describe what he'd witnessed from his friend.

He recalled the panic on Jazz's face as he'd pressed the gun against Prowl's head, the way his hands and voice shook, and that pained grimace that had make Prowl ache just looking at it. Every movement showed testament to a deep unwillingness, but it was what Jazz had said that sealed the deal in Prowl's mind. Jazz never, _ever _asked for help. He could be dangling by a finger from a cliff face and would still insist on doggedly pulling himself up no matter if someone else was there to give him a hand or not.

Special Ops had given him a fierce independent streak when it came to handling himself. Always willing to help others, he never accepted it in return. Whether it was a professional need for autonomy and privacy or a personal comfort issue, Prowl was never sure, and until now, he had accepted that uncertainty.

Jazz was, by necessity, full of secrets. But now it seemed that one of Jazz's many mysteries had come back to bite him, and Prowl was left trying to puzzle it all out while missing too many pieces.

With a tired sigh, he leaned back further in his desk chair and rubbed his optics. It was late, far too late for anyone but the night watch to be awake, so when his comm. alerted him to an incoming call, he was instantly alert. The frequency registered as an unknown, so Prowl heightened his firewalls and answered.

"Who is this?"

Static garbled the connection for a moment before an all too familiar voice broke through. "Prowler—man oh man, it is good to hear your voice. Wasn't sure if this would work."

Prowl's vents stuttered in shock. "Jazz?"

"I don't have long—please Prowl, just listen," Jazz said, his voice strained and hurried. "First—I'm sorry I shot you. I didn't want to do it but then again I'm doing a lot of slag lately that I really, _really _don't want to do," he said. "Second, you get me out of here, I'll explain _everything." _A hiss of air from vents fuzzed the connection for a moment. "Please, just get me back to the Ark. I don't want to – I _can't _do this anymore."

Prowl swallowed. It was definitely Jazz, though his voice held that panicked edge he recognized from the battle. "Jazz, we're trying our hardest, but you aren't making it easy for us," he said.

"I know—I know, and Primus knows I'm trying but I can't _stop _this," he said. "Soundwave's got a hold on me like you can't imagine."

Prowl frowned at that. "You're capable of blocking out his influence—I've seen you do it. Besides, he doesn't possess that level of power or concentration to _control _some—"

"It's not his telepathy that's doin' it," Jazz interrupted. There was a long silence on the other line and Prowl couldn't stop a small shiver of unease. When he spoke again a few long moments later, his voice was, barely above a whisper. "Get me out of here and I'll explain everything." The line went dead with a click and Prowl stared at his computer screen for a moment longer before he frantically started typing.

* * *

><p>Jazz watched Ravage slink around the corner and carefully made sure that his improved comm. was tucked safely away in his subspace. No doubt it would be found when Soundwave did his daily weapons check, but it had been a godsend to hear Prowl's voice, even if he hadn't gotten his entire message across to him. He'd have to suffer without the use of his left audio and the absence of his internal comm. until they could be replaced, but it had been worth it to talk to his friend, even if only for a few minutes.<p>

Glowing red optics looked in at him as the cassette paced silently in front of the cell. Jazz met his gaze levelly even as he slowly lowered himself to sit again, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. "Ya here to attack me or ya here to talk?" he wondered. Both would be understandable coming from the cassette.

Ravage paced for a moment longer before something in his feline shoulders seemed to relax. He easily slipped through the bars, the current not even touching him. Jazz tensed, ready to fight back if need be, but his fears were unfounded. Ravage padded silently towards him and slowly, almost cautiously laid down, resting his head on his lap. Jazz heard the quiet whirr of gears and Ravage transformed, showing his bipedal form that no one but family knew existed. He kept his face buried tightly against Jazz's hip, curled up like a sparkling.

Jazz swallowed, a small smile on his face that didn't quite cover the grief that lay just below the surface. Tentatively, he rested a hand on the little bot's shoulder before he laid his head against the wall behind him and closed his optics, a sense of peace washing over him that was wholly and entirely unwelcome.


	4. Hold On To What You Believe

Crap, crap, crap, I hope this makes sense. I've been staring at this chapter for way too damn long, to the point that I don't even know what the hell I'm supposed to be saying. Damn these two for complicating everything so much! Reviews help me- tell me your thoughts and speculations! They help me spit chapters out faster and god willing, they'll come faster than this one did.

* * *

><p>I ran away<br>I could not take the burden of both me and you  
>It was too fast<br>Casting love on me as if it were a spell I could not break  
>When it was a promise I could not make<p>

But what if I was wrong?

But hold on to what you believe in the light  
>When the darkness has robbed you of all your sight<p>

- Mumford and Sons

"Ratchet?"

He looked up from his unfinished patient release forms from the last battle and saw Prowl uncharacteristically hovering in his office doorway. He raised an optic ridge and gave a small, tired smile. "You know you don't need my permission to come in, right?" he said, though the attempt at teasing sounded tired even to him. Prowl had the good graces to quirk a small grin even as he stepped into the office and sat down heavily in the chair opposite Ratchet. "It's late—what are you still doing up? And especially with that door-wing. You should be resting."

The mech gave a small huff. "I could ask the same about you," he said. "You're still _supposed _to be recovering."

Ratchet rubbed the factory new silver arm he hadn't had time to get re-painted yet. "Yeah well, First Aid's not ready to handle the paperwork on top of piecing everyone back together. It's bad enough he's having to do it when the battles are coming so fast," he said.

"And your mobility—it's coming back alright?" Prowl prompted.

"So far, so good," Ratchet said. "Adapting to earth-built armor's taking some getting used to, but my full functionality should be back in a couple of days." He looked at the mech, a small frown tugging at his lips. "As much as I appreciate it, somehow, I don't think you came down here at—" He checked the local time on his monitor, "—four fifteen in the morning to ask about my well-being. What's up, Prowl?"

The Praxian sighed and rubbed his helm tiredly. "I don't know who to begin to ask about something like this, but I figure you would be a good start," he said and drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair. "Jazz contacted me tonight from the Nemesis."

Ratchet's optics brightened and he set his datapads aside, giving the mech his full attention. "What did he have to say?" he asked.

"Not much. He didn't have a lot of time and his connection wasn't a good one," Prowl said. "He said he would explain everything when we got him back to the Ark. But, first and foremost… he asked for help."

"That's not a word you hear out of him often," Ratchet said.

"That was my thought as well. Even worse, he sounded… scared," Prowl said and rubbed his helm.

"Another unusual thing from him."

Prowl sighed and leaned back in his chair, careful of his newly patched doorwing. "This entire time, I thought Soundwave was doing this to him… controlling him somehow."

"But you've seen yourself that Jazz is close to immune to Soundwave," Ratchet pointed out. "He's the only one of us who's trained himself entirely against his telepathy and any other of his psychic abilities. No way that mech can bust through Jazz's defenses."

"I know. That's why I wanted to investigate futher," Prowl said. "But tonight, Jazz _confirmed_ that Soundwave is controlling him, yet he denied it was telepathy as well." He sighed and rubbed his aching helm. "Which makes me ask… what the _hell _is Soundwave doing to him?"

Ratchet whistled and leaned back in his chair, crossing his mismatched arms over his chassis. "Well… there's always remote control but we wouldn't be seeing Soundwave at the battles if that were the case. He'd be somewhere else, using some sort of interface to dictate Jazz's actions and so far, I've seen Soundwave and all his slagging cassettes during every fight since Jazz left. There's also the problem of installing the remote control onto Jazz in the first place and I can't think of a single instance where that would have been possible—it's an intensive and invasive thing to do. Requires a medbay, quite a few illegal tools and a lot of time."

Prowl nodded. "So we can safely rule out remote control," he said. "And it can't be the Robo-Smasher. That was destroyed before we even left Cybertron. Can you think of any other possibilities?"

Ratchet sighed and leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. He was quiet for a long moment and Prowl allowed himself to enjoy it, hearing nothing but the soft sounds of the recharging patients in the medbay. When Prowl had been able to find so little, peace and quiet was a welcome thing. "It's not what you came here to hear," Ratchet said at last. "But I can't think of any medical or processing related reasons—at least not any I've come across. Unless Megatron's figured out a new way of body jacking someone, which I guess isn't completely out of the question, I'm at a loss."

Prowl nodded and rubbed his helm. He had been hoping for more, but he hadn't been expecting it. His own findings matched Ratchets, but often, the CMO had managed to surprise him.

"I'm sure you've already thought of blackmail or extortion," Ratchet said, his voice trailing off in something like a question.

"Jazz has many secrets," Prowl said quietly.

Ratchet snorted. "You got that right," he muttered and rested his head on his hand.

"It's… possible that something from his past has reared its head. My main concern with the theory is… why now? It's not like this war is anything _new_," Prowl pointed out. "We're not even at a pinnacle point—we're stagnant even, or we were before Jazz left for the Nemesis. If the Decepticons did have some information to use against him, why not use it when they were so close to winning—before we even left Cybertron?" He shook his head and sighed. "Secrets lose power over millennia. I can't think of _anything_ that could still be relevant after all this time."

Ratchet shifted in his seat and medic's relaxed stance suddenly became more closed off as he tightened his arms over his chassis, legs pulling a bit closer to his chair. Despite what others thought of Prowl having the emotional capacity of a droid, he was incredibly adept at reading people and his optics narrowed at the change. "You have an idea?" he prompted.

"I—well, no, not exactly," Ratchet said and ran an uncomfortable hand over his helm, his optics a little too bright.

"Ratchet, need I remind you that our third-in-command is sitting in the Nemesis? He's very good at resisting interrogation, but even Jazz can only last so long before all of our secrets are lost to the Decepticons, if they aren't already," Prowl pointed out.

Ratchet scowled and his optics narrowed into a glare. "Primus, Prowl. Thanks for that comforting thought to keep me awake the _rest _of the night," he snapped. Prowl could tell he was trying de-rail him, but he was having none of it and fixed the red and white mech with his best stare. Ratchet returned it for a long moment before he scowled and threw his hands up. "Patient confidentiality—you have to order me, alright?"

"Ratchet, as second in command of the Autobot forces, I order you to share your thoughts," he said immediately.

Ratchet gave him a petulant glare—it was no secret the medic took his confidentiality oaths very seriously. He typed into his console and brought up Jazz's long medical record. Every injury, every checkup had been documented since the moment Ratchet had been named the Ark's CMO—a good couple million years history. It was quiet a record, but Ratchet typed in a star-date that Prowl recognized instantly—the day the Ark had left Cybertron, the last of the many Autobot ships that had made the exodus from the dead planet.

"After the crew of the Ark was gathered, I was tasked with giving everyone a physical—standard procedure, yadda yadda," Ratchet said and waved a careless hand. "Jazz always played this evasive little game with me and I was through taking slag from that mech. I finally had the authority in medical matters so I ordered his aft to the medbay. I gave him his physical and I found a… fracture on his spark."

Prowl's optics widened in surprise at that. A fracture in a spark crystal was no small matter. It usually meant a lessened energy output to the frame it powered. It was almost always noticeable—mechs fatigued faster, limbs would go numb at random or in extreme cases, the mech could even die from it. "That would point to some sort of trauma, like a spark interrogation or—or a rape," he said.

Ratchet nodded before adding, "Or a broken or strained bond."

It took a second to sink in. "No—_no." _Prowl had learned to accept many things but the idea that Jazz, his friend for millennia, had once been _bonded? _"They kept records of that on Cybertron. Even if it wasn't announced after the bonding happened, surely it would have been noticed during a maintenance update and recorded." He pushed out of his chair and walked behind Ratchet. He leaned over his shoulder and typed something into the Teletraan terminal. With a few quick commands and his authorization code, he brought up Jazz's general records—a timeline of Jazz's known history.

Ratchet scrolled slowly, optics skimming over the records while Prowl watched over his shoulder. When Jazz had first joined Special Operations, Prowl had been tasked with doing an extensive background check so he had already seen the mech's records, but he watched carefully, trying to find anything he might have missed.

"Jazz, previous designation Meister. Creation date, born a musical savant, became a composer at an early age, blah blah blah," Ratchet said and he scrolled down further. He reached a point during Jazz's adolescence and he couldn't stop a snort of a laugh. "Get this, he walked out of the middle of a performance at the Iacon Towers just to spite them—that was his last show."

Prowl couldn't stop a grin. He'd heard Jazz tell that story before. From a renowned musician to a pariah in the span of an evening. "He was a self-proclaimed free-floater after that," Prowl said and looked at the records. "He told me once that he just… travelled. Visited the different city-states on Cybertron and used whatever money he'd saved up from his performance days to get by. That's actually how I met him. When I was part of the Peacekeepers in Tarn, my partner dragged me out to a bar and Jazz was remixing some of his old compositions into dance music. That was the same night I arrested him for his involvement in a fight outside of that same bar." He snorted at the memory and shook his head. "He still went by Meister back then… it wasn't until he joined the Autobots that he took the name 'Jazz.'"

Ratchet scrolled down further, frowning as he looked at the screen and seeing a smattering of other small-time offenses—Peacekeeper evasion being the most pervasive. "Why did he change his name?" he wondered.

Prowl shrugged. "I asked him the same thing when I met him again in Iacon. He said it was… something like a new start for him. Stop there," he said and squinted at the screen where a stretch of blank filled a small part of the timeline. "That five vorn period," he said and pointed to the screen. Barely a blip of time to the average Cybertronian, but it was enough to catch his attention. "If he was travelling during that time, there should be _something. _Peacekeeper reports, tracking records, notable credit transactions, _something," _he said.

"There's no guarantee Jazz was entering cities by _legal _means. This _is _Jazz we're talking about," Ratchet pointed out.

"It's too clean," Prowl said. "That was when Jazz was still the naïve little Iaconian musician. He was too clumsy back then to have such a flawless record and I _know _he wasn't a flawless mech." He swore. "I should have seen it when I was doing his initial background check—I didn't even think of it, it was such an insignificant time. I had interpreted it as Jazz staying rooted for a time," he muttered. "But looking at it now… I think someone wiped the record of that part of his history."

"Shit." Prowl nodded, silently echoing the sentiment, and when Ratchet spoke again, his unease showed in his voice. "When I did the initial check-up, he was real evasive. Gave me short answers which is just… weird for him," he said. "He said he had been bonded for a short time and his bondmate was dead—my scanners showed me that his spark was giving a reduced output so I took him on his word. Why would you lie about that?"

"Unless you were bonded to a Decepticon. Oh Primus," Prowl whispered and rubbed his optics.

"Specifically… a Decepticon communications officer who would be able to wipe those records so clean," Ratchet finished. His optics were pale as he stared at the screen. "Bondmates share emotions, _thoughts._ How is it that Soundwave doesn't know every damn secret we possess?"

Prowl swallowed, knowing that a part of him should accept this as speculation only, but the part of him that still functioned off of emotion told him that this was the Primus-given truth. "If Jazz had _any _sort of loyalty left to Soundwave, he wouldn't be asking to come back. If he had been passing information along, we would have lost this war a long time ago—we'd all be dead or worse if his loyalties were with the Decepticons."

Ratchet ran a hand over his tired face. "Primus… so that's it, then? Soundwave's blackmailing him—threatened to expose the bond if he didn't cooperate. He must have already told Megatron… he's probably one of the few Decepticons that could get away with revealing a secret like that and still keep their spark intact."

Even as Prowl nodded in agreement, something felt off. An unease resonated deeply in his spark, screaming at him that there was still a critical piece missing.

* * *

><p>Soft music played through the speakers on Jazz's system. A slight undertone of static hissed through the speakers due to the inhibitors that had been installed, but Jazz was able to ignore it for now. He sat on the floor of his cell with his head resting against the wall behind him, optics closed behind his visor as he lost himself in the smooth music and let the gentle sound roll over him. It was an easy way to escape the confines of his cell, of his own treacherous body—no one could take the music from him. Even if he was struck deaf, it would play out like a story in his processor, forever ingrained like a fond memory.<p>

The walking bass line that drummed in the background of the song reminded him of waking up on Earth. Tuning into the radio stations for the first time after a four million year stasis had felt like being reborn. A musician and composer born and raised, he was more than familiar with the metal percussion and horns and electronic synthesizers that created Cybertronian music, but as soon as his comms. had synched up with the airways, his entire view of what music could be was changed.

Never before had he heard an instrument made out of organic material. Over the strong blast of a trumpet, he'd heard the smooth, thrumming bass line holding the entire weight of that song on its steady, syncopated rhythm. It was mesmerizing—so alien compared to what he was used to, what he had studied and practiced and perfected for his entire existence, and yet at the same time, the sound spoke harmonies within his very spark that made him shiver just in remembrance.

It hadn't taken him long to discover that he'd been listening to a stand-up bass. It had only taken him a moment longer to discover that the style of music he had heard was called jazz, and it was one of many different styles of music this little rock had to offer. He branched out into other styles, other genres , drinking it all in like a starving mech, but jazz music remained his favorite. He even adopted it as the English translation to his name. 'Style of music,' didn't make a slick sounding name, so he had become Jazz. And it had fit perfectly—better than his creation name ever had.

A quiet noise brought him back to attention. Instantly, he switched the music off, aborting the sound so suddenly that the silence of the brig made him twitch. His one remaining audio picked it up much easier now—the steady step, step, step, of pedes, a single mech, walking down the brig's main hall. He stayed sitting against the wall, optics trained just past the ever-glowing bars of his cell.

He wasn't surprised when Soundwave stepped in front of his cell, crimson visor peering through the bars at him. For a long moment, the mech was silent and Jazz didn't offer him a word. He had nothing left to say to the mech. Long experience knew that Soundwave wasn't comfortable with silence from him, and he used it, drawing it out to painful lengths while his visor never left his.

The unexpected pulse to his spark made Jazz gasp, a hand flying to his chassis as though he could stop it.

"Jazz knows as well as Soundwave does that bond is fractured," Soundwave said, his monotone quiet in the brig.

Jazz glared at the mech, dentals bared. "Take the voice synth off, I _hate_ that fucking thing," he growled.

Soundwave gave a small inclination of his head before his mask slid open, exposing his mouth and nose. "Jazz, avoiding the truth," Soundwave said, his voice deep and almost melodious without the synthesizer to disguise it. "The bond is fractured. Needs to be renewed."

A harsh laugh spilled from Jazz's mouth. "_Bond_?" he repeated. "You _can't_ bond, remember Soundwave?" He got to his feet and sauntered closer to the bars, wagging his hips in a way he knew would get the mech's attention. "Remember all those times we tried? The lapses, the blackouts?" he asked, voice saccharine sweet. "You're a telepath, remember?" He reached a hand through the bars of his cell, one finger tracing a weaving pattern down the mech's chassis. "So sensitive to signals, you can pick up any signal wavelength- even a mech's thought pattern, but the ones used in forging a bond are just... too... much," he says and flicks the mech's chassis in emphasis to each word. "And you shut down before it can be finished. Too bad, so sad," he tsked and the taunting tone disappeared. "You were so damn close to having me forever, too."

Soundwave grabbed his hand as he tried to pull away, keeping it pressed against his chassis. "You _are_ mine," he said. "Or does Jazz need a reminder of the solution we found?" Without waiting for an answer, Soundwave's chassis spiraled open, the glass of his tape deck folding back to reveal his modified spark casing, and underneath, through the tangle of wires and metal, his brightly pulsing spark. Jazz tried to jerk his hand away, shock written clearly across his face, but Soundwave kept his grip, holding his hand just over his spark and the signal dampener that encircled it.

As hard as he tried, Jazz couldn't seem to look away. "It's even uglier than I remember," he said, though the familiar signal of his spark energy washed through him. Soundwave released his hand and Jazz pulled it quickly back through the bars, cradling it against his own chassis and rubbing his wrist, despite the fact that the mech hadn't hurt him. "I've made a lot of mistakes, but none of them were as bad as that."

The light behind Soundwave's visor narrowed. "Jazz didn't regret it at the time," he said, his voice gaining a hard edge. "Jazz attempting to make me lose my temper. It will not work."

Jazz smirked. "That's not what I'm feeling, Soundwave," he said. "That's the problem with a signal dampener- it makes things so one-sided. I can feel _everything_ you do, and right now, you're absolutely boiling with it."

Soundwave's hand shot through the bars, faster than even Jazz could react and wrapped around his neck. "Other problem with a one way bond," he said. "You can't block it out."

Jazz choked, grabbing Soundwave's hand and standing on the tips of his pedes as the mech drew him up higher. "I learned that the hard way," he choked out before digging his fingers into a sensitive pressure point on the mech's wrist. Soundwave dropped him and Jazz rubbed his neck, coughing once. "That's the one thing I can't figure out," he said, his voice laced with static. "How did you do it? It's been millions of vorns- how _now_ did you figure out a way to use it?"

Soundwave's lips curled up into a smile, an expression so rare that Jazz felt like he had stepped back in time as he looked at it. "It's easy to control a spark that's become so torn."

Jazz froze as he tried and failed to keep his surprise from his face. "What are you talking about?" he asked, though his tenuous tone said he knew exactly what was being implied.

Soundwave's smile slid into a smirk, an even rarer expression from him. Without another word, he turned and walked out of sight. Jazz's spark throbbed, as though it was trying to call him back, but he knew Soundwave wouldn't be able to feel it. Once, that truth had saddened him beyond words, but now, he couldn't have been more relieved.


	5. Hurt

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Nine Inch Nails originally did this song. I like this version better and the lyrics are... slightly different. Anyway, enjoy! There are still mysteries to be unraveled.

* * *

><p>I wear this crown of thorns<br>Upon my liar's chair  
>Full of broken thoughts<br>I cannot repair  
>Beneath the stains of time<br>The feelings disappear  
>You are someone else<br>I am still right here

What have I become  
>My sweetest friend<br>Everyone I know goes away  
>In the end<br>And you could have it all  
>My empire of dirt<br>I will let you down  
>I will make you hurt<p>

-Johnny Cash

He remembered rain, the sting of acid as the stray drops hit his armor, peeling paint and corroding metal. He remembered being too sick, too tired and too broken to move, huddling further under his mesh blanket to try and shield himself from the elements. Optics had closed behind his cracked visor in an attempt to sleep the pain away until his next opportunity.

But then someone had said his name.

"Meister?"

A hand slapped him across the face and he yanked back to consciousness, a strangled cry escaping him before he was present enough to stop it. Water dripped onto his helm and he jerked away from it, expecting to feel the sting any moment. Something wasn't right. His glossa darted out to taste it as it trailed close to the corner of his mouth. Salt and brine. Ocean water, not acid. For a moment, that confused him until a hand closed around the back of his neck and yanked.

"Try it again, Soundwave."

He felt a hand on his helm, scanners prickling his processor before searing pain tore through it, like a dozen connections had all shorted out, sparking in agonizing pops inside of his helm. Only long practice kept him from screaming as his entire frame tensed, testing the strength of the bonds that held his arms pinned to his sides. Unfortunately, they held.

The barrage seemed to last forever, and the whole time, the pain stayed new, unpredictable, shifting and moving through his helm in a way that kept him off balanced and unable to acclimate. Soundwave had gotten better since the last time he'd tried, but better wasn't good enough. Jazz didn't even have to try to block him out—not really. There were no advanced techniques of resisting interrogation here. No, the signal dampener around Soundwave's very spark did the hard work for him. The only thing he had to focus on was keeping his screams contained, all the while enjoying the inkling of guilt that radiated through the one-sided bond.

Finally, the attack ended and Jazz sucked in a deep breath of damp air, his shaking frame streaked with coolant. Without his visor, he couldn't see which way they were coming, so he stayed hunched and kneeling, frame tense even as he turned his audio feed up to hear them better. A whir of gears and a fist cracked against the back of his helm, making his blind optics spark with imagined visual feed for just a moment. His head drooped, unconsciousness threatening to overtake him again, and he welcomed it like an old friend.

Blurred optics looked up, squinting through the static and cracks in his visor. A blue hand reached out for him and he curled up a little tighter, face burying back under his rag as he tried to hide his shame. The hand cupped his cheek, guiding his head up and the rain stopped, blocked by the presence above him.

"Meister, relapsed," a voice said and he was gently pulled to his feet. Something settled over his shoulders and helm, blocking him from the acid that rained from the sky and enveloping him in a blanket of warmth. Even as his chilled frame welcomed the heat, a cold pit of guilt settled in his tanks.

The word cut deeper than he thought possible, slicing through the Crystal induced haze that he had welcomed again so readily. He had failed. And like fate, here he was—the only mech who had worked to help him was seeing him at his lowest. A quiet sigh escaped the blue mech and arms enveloped him in a gentle embrace, sliding around his waist and back, holding him like a treasure.

"Come. Soundwave will help," he had said. "Soundwave will always help."

"Why isn't it working?" a voice snarled, echoing inside of his head as consciousness returned to him once more. He was finally able to recognize it as Vortex.

Jazz managed a smirk. "Your telepath's broken," he said hoarsely.

Vortex's pede caught him in the abdomen this time. Jazz's vents stalled at the impact and he listed to the side without even registering his change in position. The next moment, his shoulder connected with the ground, vents wheezing as they tried to catch up.

"Desist," Soundwave said, and though he couldn't see the mech, he could tell he was angry. Exactly _what_ he was angry at was uncertain. A scuffle of metal against metal registered to Jazz's audios for just a moment before Soundwave said, more harshly this time, "_Desist."_

"If you would just let me have a minute alone with him, I could break him!" Vortex snapped. "There wouldn't be a speck of knowledge left in his processor that we couldn't get to!"

"Unnecessary," Soundwave said. "Soundwave will find an alternative way."

Vortex scoffed. "Whatever," he said, obviously annoyed at having to share his domain with anyone else. "You get to tell Megatron that he's still locked up tighter than a Vosian safe then."

Jazz heard the helicopter's distinct footsteps retreat, his clicking rotors creating a strange rhythm to his steps. He lay tense as the distant door closed, unable to catch anything from Soundwave other than the quiet whirr of his vents. A hand closed around his shoulder and pulled him to a sitting position. Something brushed against his face and he jerked back, nearly toppling himself over again, but Soundwave held him firmly.

"Be still," he ordered.

"Choke on a spike," Jazz retorted and threw his head back as Soundwave touched his face again, so very close to his milky white optics. Despite his best efforts, something slid into the ports on his temples and his sight returned with a quick burst of data as his visor synched up with his system. Soundwave's face was right in front of him as his vision returned and the blue mech snapped his fingers directly in front of his optics. Still disoriented and in pain, Jazz jumped back instinctively.

Soundwave nodded in approval before reaching behind him and unlocking the cuffs around his wrists and upper arms. They clattered to the floor and Jazz barely managed to suppress a shiver as the blue mech stood, hands gripping Jazz under his arm to pull him up as well. His legs didn't seem to want to support him and he stumbled, warnings popping up on his HUD to remind him how low on energy he was. Soundwave stood like a wall at his side and half carried, half dragged him out of the damp and cold interrogation room. Jazz's head hung limply, visor dim and unfocused as he was led back to his cell once more.

He had been trained to withstand interrogation. He'd been taught to deal with pain, energy redlines, psychological games. He knew self-aid, meditation, system bypasses—countless techniques to keep himself strong and calm. But as Soundwave's hand brushed over his back as he nudged him into his cell, it was all forgotten. He was an addict once more, shuddering with withdrawal and searching for the only comfort and relief he had known, and it took every ounce of strength he had to walk away from the mech and into his cell once more.

* * *

><p>"Cliffjumper?"<p>

The red minibot walked into Prowl's office without preamble. "We need to talk, sir," he said quietly.

Prowl rarely dealt with the hotheaded mech—he was part of Ironhide's unit, so why he was here now was a mystery to him. "Concerning what?" he asked and motioned for the mech to have a seat.

Cliffjumper lowered himself into the chair. "Concerning Jazz," he said.

Prowl looked at him in surprise. "You have my full attention," he said and blacked his computer screen, hiding his latest report.

Cliffjumper sighed and ran a hand over his helm, looking suddenly uncertain. "Your office is secure, isn't it?" he asked, though something about his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

Prowl frowned curiously. "Of course," he said. With the amount of top secret information he sifted through on a daily basis, even Red Alert didn't have any security devices inside of his office. "Why?"

"Because I'm not comfortable sharing this and I'd prefer it to stay between us," he said. Prowl waited patiently, folding his hands in front of him as Cliffjumper fidgeted. The red mech rubbed the back of his helm. "Do you know what I did before the war?" he asked.

Prowl's door wings twitched, thinking back to all the mechs he had screened for the Ark crew. He remembered that Jazz had suggested bringing Cliffjumper over from the Xanthium. "You were a military mech. You enlisted a few vorns before the war broke out in earnest."

Cliffjumper nodded. "True," he said. "But before that, I was a bartender in Iacon. And one of my most frequent customers was a mech named Meister." Prowl sat up a little straighter, his doorwings hitching high with interest. "And I see that name's familiar to you." Prowl nodded and Cliffjumper sighed. "Look… I knew Meister when the war was just a small uprising in Kaon." He hesitated before adding, "I knew Meister _before_ Soundwave."

Prowl's processor stalled. "You know," he breathed.

Cliffjumper nodded and relaxed a little. "And you know too—or you guessed," he said.

Prowl nodded and rubbed his helm. "Ratchet and I pieced it together," he said. "Or, we thought we did. It was mostly speculation—we had hoped we were wrong. There are just… so many pieces missing."

Cliffjumper nodded. "Maybe I can fill in a couple," he said. "I'm… slag it, Jazz is going to murder me for telling you—I'm Jazz's handler."

Prowl's optics widened further. "You're not Special Operations," he said.

Cliffjumper gave a wry grin. "Not according to the roster, no. But Jazz didn't request for me to follow him over from the Xanthium because I'm an excellent front-liner," he said with a snort. "I've known Jazz since he was a musician under the thumb of two very controlling Creators. He knew he could trust me with his secrets—hell, I was his confidant while a lot of it was going down."

Prowl rubbed his helm. Handlers were usually reserved for mechs who went deep undercover—mechs who took on a different set of coding to be able to completely blend into enemy territory. Their handler kept their original memories and core programming safe, ready to trigger it when the operative returned from their mission. It was someone they had to trust intrinsically, and for the safety of both mechs, the handler's identity was usually kept a secret. Cliffjumper was so unassuming—he had been the perfect choice.

Jazz used to do such in-depth work, back in the early parts of the war. He had been an excellent infiltrator and Autobot double agent until one trip to Tarn had violently ended that part of his career. But having access to Jazz's memories meant that Cliffjumper knew _everything_.

"What can you tell me?" Prowl asked, processor weighed down by so much new information. A part of him knew that it was only going to get worse.

Cliffjumper sighed and sat back in his chair. "Primus, that's a loaded question… I guess I'll start from the beginning."

_I met Meister when he was on his last tour in Iacon. He'd stumbled into my bar, visor missing, dent on his face and scraped knuckles—he'd gotten into a fight of some sort and he needed a sympathetic audio, so I gave it. It was a slow night and he seemed like he had a story to tell. _

_I had no idea who he was. I certainly wasn't high caste and that was the crowd he played for. But as we talked more, it all came out. Meister, renowned composer, musical savant and non-newtonium player had just walked out of a performance at the Iacon Towers and was now sitting in my bar, chatting my audio off. He talked about his creators and how he'd just gotten into a knock down fight with them after he'd walked off stage. He talked about how his creators had kept him locked to his work, about how it was practice and performance, one after another, his creators pushing and bullying him to preform and be their ticket into a higher caste. He talked about how he'd never had a single day of freedom in his life._

_I felt bad for him. He wasn't too much younger than I was at the time and he just… seemed so lonely. Like he'd never really had anyone to just vent to. So I listened and I talked and, well, we kept that tradition going, night after night. After that last performance, he stuck around Iacon for a while and against my better judgment, I gave him a place to stay until he got back on his feet. It didn't take him too long to get his credit and savings accounts transferred back to him and Primus, did he have a bit of coin to spend. Being a top musician in those days must have been lucrative. He made sure he paid me back for every cube of energon he'd drank, every night he'd stayed at my place. _

_I had never met someone who was so excited about having such… a basic freedom. He was so naïve back then—and yet he had a thirst to learn and see _everything_. And he had absolutely no shame about wiggling into places he didn't belong. Primus, while he was still in Iacon, he not only managed to sneak his way into the military headquarters, but he _visited_ mechs in the medical ward after that nasty rust breakout happened! I bailed him out for trespassing and Peacekeeper evasion more times than I can remember—I'm sure you came across those little blips on his record. He was like a storm unleashed—all that intelligence and curiosity had been pent up for so long, and now that he had freedom, he didn't give a slag about consequences. He did whatever he felt like and dealt with the repercussions as they came—that is if he couldn't wiggle his way out of them first. _

_He became… amazingly adept at sweet talking his way out of a bad situation. I think it came from having to impress and dance around higher caste mechs. He and his family were from a middle caste so his entire life, he'd been taught how to charm and ingratiate himself with mechs of a better position. It paid off during his run-ins with the Peacekeepers—I'm convinced he managed to talk his way out of most of the things he'd been charged with. Smooth slagger._

_But nearly a vorn after he walked out of his last performance, his curiosity had spread towards the rest of the planet. He was a little nervous, but I egged him on—I told him to get out of Iacon, get away from his creation-city and see what the rest of the world had to offer. So… he did. He left one day and I didn't see him for _vorns_. I was a little nervous about unleashing him on the world… I didn't even think about what the world could do to him. I'd get a note from him every-so-often to check in or a comm. to have him try and convince me to come down to Polyhex for a race or Kaon for a gladiatorial match, but I didn't see him until he came back to Iacon one day._

_And Primus, let me tell you, it was a very different mech that showed up at my door. _

_Meister was closed off, anxious, evasive even. Not at all his usual happy-go-lucky self. Primus, he even _sounded _different. He used to have such a proper Iacon accent but now he had this… Altihexian twang mixed with a Praxus cadence. I could tell he'd spent a lot of time in the Southwestern states and he confirmed it when I asked. But something seemed so… off about him._

_I… wouldn't tell you this part of the story if it wasn't important. Jazz doesn't like anyone to know about this point—I think he tries to forget it himself most of the time. I still feel partially responsible… I had sent this naïve little Iaconian out to fend for himself, and I could tell he'd run into trouble. I just didn't realize how much until he tried to sneak a fix behind my back._

_The mech had gotten hooked on Crystal during his time in Altihex. Worst part was, he denied it—said it was something that he only did when he needed to relax. But I saw how his hands shook, saw how his moods changed when he went too long without it, how angry he got when I mentioned it. He was hooked and hooked badly and he wasn't about to take a bit of my help. We… ended that meeting on a bad note. I never thought I'd see him again—all my comms. went unanswered, my messages ignored. I thought he was dead or worse for nearly four vorns._

_The Decepticon revolt picked up during that time and after the rebellions started in Kaon in Tarn, I enlisted with the Autobots. I thought about him a lot, wondered where he was—if he was in Kaon or one of the other Southern city-states that had gotten so… turbulent lately. And just when I thought I'd about given up hope of seeing him again, he showed up._

_He seemed so much better then—healthy, clear-headed, _happy._ He seemed mature, hardened almost—I could tell that the Crystal had taken its toll on him. His visor hid it, but I could tell just by looking at him that he'd seen and done things he'd regret for the rest of his life. Even so, I'd never seen a bigger grin on his face. He apologized for everything—he admitted how wrong he was, how messed up he had been the last time we had talked. I forgave him—I was just relieved to see him again, and I had never seen him so happy._

_He said he'd met someone._

_He called him his Professor. Said he taught communications technologies at the Altihex Military Academy. He said that he was to thank for helping Meister get clean after nearly two vorns of addiction. Meister told me all about him. He told me that he was a carrier mech by the name of Soundwave and that his adopted symbiote had found Jazz in an alley, injured and leaking after a bad fight had left him with a hole through his shoulder. _

_Now, this is my own speculation—but I think Soundwave has a special place in his spark for broken things. Carrier mechs are nurturing like that and it fits with what I know of Soundwave. He adopted Ravage after his creator and carrier died, leaving him on the brink of death. I think that same carrier protocol kicked in when he saw Meister for the first time. As much as I hate the mech now… I was grateful towards him at the time. He had helped Meister—he'd gotten him clean and _kept _him that way. He very well may have saved his life._

_And Meister, well… Meister was smitten. I've never seen a mech more in love than he was. I don't think he'd ever really even _experienced_ what love could be before he met Soundwave. His creators certainly never gave it to him and he never took any other lovers, as far as I know. I wasn't surprised when Meister told me they were going to bond... but I was surprised he told me that they couldn't._

_That's the thing about telepaths—there's only been the one. Soundwave is a testament to how our technology is advancing—he's the next step in Cybertronian technology… but it also means that there's so much unknown about what they can and can't do. Meister and Soundwave experienced it all first-hand and it nearly crushed them when they found out. _

_Telepaths can't bond. They can scan electrical currents, radio waves—signals so minute and encrypted that they can literally read a mech's though pattern… but bonds consist of combining two sparks and minds—merging two different spark signatures into one. Bonds are, essentially, a body-link. Thoughts, emotions, pains can all be transferred through that bond connection, once it's made… but _forging _that connection was too much for Soundwave. He's too sensitive towards those little nuances and fluctuations that doing something as intense as forging a bond just… shut him down. The onslaught of sensory data just overloaded his system— forced him into a reboot or made him blackout for a period._

_They tried again and again, but no matter what they did, it couldn't be done… but Soundwave's resourceful. There's only one person who's equipped to deal with his condition and that's him. He found a solution—or a partial one at least. He created a device… Meister described it to me as a signal dampener that is tuned against his unique frequency. It acts as a barrier for Soundwave—blocking out the sensory data Meister lets off. _

_And it worked… they created this sort of half-bond. Soundwave is completely shut off from Jazz—it's why he's not able to read his processor. But Jazz… Jazz feels everything that Soundwave does. For him, it's like a regular bond—he catches thoughts and emotions from him, though over the years, Soundwave's learned to block himself out more and more. The signal dampener doesn't allow him to shut off the bond—not like a normal bond could. Soundwave… adapted in a different way. He never wore a voice synth, had a visor only when he needed it—he used to smile, used to _feel_. He's conditioned himself not to do that anymore. Whatever Jazz feels from him now—it's a rare time when Soundwave experiences a strong enough emotion that Jazz feels the echoes. _

_As much as he denied it at the time, as much as he said he was satisfied, I knew that Meister wanted a full bond with him. I can't say how glad I am that they never managed it. He moved to Altihex to live with Soundwave. I never thought I'd see the day that he settled down, but he did. They built a family. They created Rumble and Frenzy. He visited from time to time, but never for long and it was usually on business—he started helping Soundwave with communications work, learning the technical side of detecting and couriering various channels for various clients. That was the happiest I ever saw him… or have seen him since. They were together for over three vorns before Kaon was taken by the Decepticons. _

_That's when things started to go south._

_Soundwave started frequenting Tarn for work, spending a couple breems there at a time while Meister stayed in Altihex. I don't think Meister realized who Soundwave was taking work for at the time—or if he did, he didn't care. He was unaffiliated at the time—he knew mechs from all different castes, had lived a very… diverse life than most mechs. I never thought he _would _choose a side. _

_And for a long time, I thought he hadn't— I had been relocated to the battle in Tarn at the time, where I met you for the first time, actually. I was out of touch with him and it wasn't until later that he told me what he had been up to. He changed his paint job and name—he started going by Jazz. Soundwave wiped part of his records, added a few details here and there to give him a more appealing background. He started working as a civilian contractor in Tarn for a short while before being transferred to Iacon HQ, doing odd jobs here and there. He started talking to the right people. After Sentinel Prime was assassinated, he suddenly became buddy-buddy with Zeta Prime—started working directly _under_ him. Primus, to this _day_ I have no idea how he managed to talk himself into such a position, but he did. _

_I had no idea this was going on—I was in Tarn fighting a battle for the city. I was the only person on the planet who could have maybe stopped those early info leaks, but I was in the wrong place and in the dark. Besides, who would have believed me? I was just some enlisted front-liner while Jazz was the new favorite of the Prime and his council. Pit, I don't know if I would have even recognized him—so many black and white mechs of his model, even a small change is enough to throw me off, let alone a full repaint._

_He was a Decepticon in everything but the records. Soundwave started wearing the insignia sometime around then, I think, working openly for Megatron. Any records of their bond had been wiped—if they had ever existed in the first place. Jazz later told me that their bond… looks different on his spark. It looks broken—and that was the excuse he used. Jazz claimed he'd been mated for a short time and had lost his mate in the early rebellions. No one ever thought to question it. _

_Jazz continued his work, getting deeper and deeper into Autobot command, joining the ranks under… special circumstances from Zeta. I think you met him shortly after—when you were transferred to Iacon as a Junior Tactical Specialist, right? Did you ever suspect anything? No, we wouldn't be here now if you had—if _anyone _had._

_Things went exactly how Soundwave wanted for quite a while. Jazz was his agent in Autobot HQ—relaying pertinent information without anyone being the wiser. He was the perfect double agent and when he started worming his way into Autobot Special Operations, well… it only got easier. He started working as an infiltrator, a sleeper agent among the Decepticons. But all it really did was put him back in proximity with Soundwave again. He walked the line between the two factions, spreading choice pieces of information to each._

_Jazz told me that it was around this time he started having doubts, second thoughts about what he was doing. Against his better judgment, he'd made friends among the Autobots. It was harder for him to pass along information. It was the start of a gradual change. _

_I got slagged in Tarn— _badly _slagged when a mortar hit our camp. They didn't know if I was going to live or not and they sent me to Iacon's med center in forced stasis to see if there was anything they could do. Jazz said he saw me there, missing half of my body, spark exposed—he said that the reality of what he was doing kinda… crashed down on him. _

_He was playing with mech's lives. He was betraying the friends he had made to a cause he wasn't entirely sure he agreed with. Suddenly, he started thinking a lot harder about what information he passed on, leaving choice info out of his reports to Soundwave and spreading good info to the Autobots. He dealt with the guilt and the uncertainty for quite a while—nearly a full vorn if I remember. Soundwave, to his knowledge, didn't suspect anything—why would he? His mate would never betray him._

_It wasn't until Praxus that Jazz made up his mind. It wasn't until he went and saw the destruction of the city for himself that he knew he was playing for the wrong team. The… wanton destruction he saw there, the senseless slaughter. He thought back to all the information he'd passed along and wondered how big of a part he had played in the deaths of so many. He helped find Bluestreak in the rubble of the city and took him to Iacon._

_He was supposed to stay in Kaon for a time, but he left to get Bluestreak to safety. You know that part of the story—Jazz came to you first when he got back. He knew he needed to get back to Kaon soon though, he knew he didn't have much time—he came up with a story, an excuse for his absence and even though he was warned against going back by multiple people, he still did it._

_He won't tell me what happened here—refuses to speak about it at all. I'm a little ashamed to admit that I tried to look at the copy of his memory files, but he's even blocked it on there, so I don't know what went down during those cycles where he returned to Kaon. All I know is that he didn't reappear until after the Cataclysm, and when he did, it was at the Autobot camp near Polyhex. _

_He was just… wrecked. Reports say that he was beat to slag—armor panels ripped off, audios blown, only half of his visor functioning. They said he wouldn't speak to anyone, barely let anyone touch him except for Ratchet. I know you read those reports—you had him flown back to Iacon for repairs and debrief, didn't you? You saw what he was like. He was… changed. Even now, I'll catch that haunted look on his face and you know he's remembering it—remembering every detail of what Soundwave must have done to him. _

_I... I know this is a lot to take in, but I _promise_ you, Prowl. That mech has no loyalty to the Decepticons. I think that the only reason he ever did was because of Soundwave... and that loyalty died a long time ago. _

Cliffjumper's voice trailed off and he looked at the edge of Prowl's desk, almost like he was afraid of meeting his optics. Prowl was silent, his processor running memory after memory, scenario after scenario to try and deny what the mech was telling him, but every cross reference came back clean. It was like seeing the finish product of a puzzle he hadn't realized he'd been doing— it all fit too perfectly to deny. Everything he thought he knew about Jazz, about a mech he had considered one of his closest friends, had effectively been shattered.

It was a long moment before he spoke. "Why did you never come forward with this information before?" he asked.

Cliffjumper rubbed the back of his neck. "I follow Jazz," he said quietly. "Just like Mirage and Bumblebee—they report to him first and you, even Optimus second. It's the nature of Special Operations... and it's always been the nature of our friendship." He swallowed and for the first time since he came into Prowl's office, he lifted his head and met his optics. "But I want him back as badly as you do. And I feel like you knowing is the only way that that's going to happen."

Prowl pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned back in his chair. The weight of the information seemed to settle on his shoulders, tugging his doorwings down a few degrees and forcing him deeper into his chair. It seemed like the effort of standing up was not worth it—not until he could sort through his own thoughts and conflicting emotions and loyalties, but the pressing matter was still sitting in front of him.

"Jazz was afraid we would find out," Prowl said, not as a question.

Cliffjumper nodded. "Terrified," he said. "He was a traitor… even if that was a lifetime ago. He was afraid you would turn on him. Is he right?"

Prowl looked at the mech sharply. Cliffjumper was sitting a little straighter, optics hard and mouth drawn into a thin line. It was almost startling—under the tough persona, he could tell that Cliffjumper was just as scared, terrified of the thought that he might have just condemned his friend to prison or, even worse, spark isolation. More had been done to traitors in the past for lesser offenses.

It had been a gamble for Cliffjumper to come here and speak to him about these matters. Prowl was the picture of decorum, the strictest upholder of Autobot laws and policies other than, perhaps, Ultra Magnus. He realized just how much trust the mech must have in him... or how desperate he was to get his friend back to the Ark safely.

Prowl was compelled to give an answer, but this was not his jurisdiction. It was a question only Optimus could rightfully answer. But Optimus wasn't here and Optimus didn't know what Prowl currently did about his college and the Autobot third in command. Logic told him to call Prime in immediately, share this knowledge with the mech it needed to be heard by, but the small part of Prowl that still worked off of emotion hesitated. He suddenly knew what it was like to be Cliffjumper right now, felt the fear of holding a secret so powerful that it could condemn another mech to death or worse if it was shared with the wrong person. Optimus had labeled Jazz a traitor, stripped him of his rank until he could safely rest the weight of the Autobots on him again. Sharing this information with him now could possibly make that sentence permanent.

"Of course not," Prowl finally said, voice strained. "Jazz is still my friend and a... trusted colleague." It was hard to say it, after his trust had been rattled so badly, but one fact still remained: if Jazz hadn't cut off all ties from the Decepticons, become the Autobot that Prowl had believed him to be, they wouldn't be having this conversation now. The war would have ended a long, long time ago, and not in their favor.

"Our priorities have not changed," Prowl said. "First, we get Jazz back."


	6. Stranger In A Strange Land

Aaaalmost bumped the rating up for this chapter. And then I didn't. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Enemy of mine, I'll fuck you like the devil.<p>

Violent inside, beautiful and evil.

I'm a ghost. You're an angel.

We're one and the same, just remains of an age.

Lost in a day dream, what do you see?

If you're looking for Jesus, get on your knees!

Enemy of mine, I'm just a stranger in a strange land.

Running out of time, better go, go, go!

Angel or a demon, I gave up my soul,

I'm guilty of treason, I've abandoned control.

-30 Seconds to Mars

Jazz had heard the footsteps, listened to the click of the lock on his cell, but he couldn't be bothered to power on his optics and see who it was. He wasn't sure if he could manage it, actually. All power had been diverted to simply keeping himself conscious. His energy had dropped past critical levels, and even his specialized system overrides weren't doing any good. The foggy, still powered part of his processor wondered if they intended to let him die down here, but as a hand touched his neck, he knew that wasn't the case.

Damn.

The fingers left his neck and were quickly replaced by a short sting of pain. He didn't even have the energy to wince, though he noticed his energy levels slowly begin to rise. As the numbers lifted into the single digits, systems slowly started coming back online, his override program allowing them to restart as his system hit those energy mile markers. His chronometer was one of the first and he frowned. It was nearly three in the morning, local time. Of course, he knew who was coming down here in the middle of the night to take care of him—the real question was _why_.

When his systems reached a relatively comfortable 15%, his visor was finally allowed to reboot, bringing Soundwave into focus. He was crouched in front of him, a small medical scanner in his hand. Jazz blinked as he followed the cord that trailed from it to the port on his wrist. Primus, he hadn't even felt him plug in. That was an unnerving thought, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Besides, even as drained as he was, he wasn't detecting anything other than a simple medical scan.

Soundwave looked up, his visor meeting his own in silence, and Jazz wasn't willing to say a word. He leaned his head back against the damp wall behind him, focusing on the steady rise of his energy. He felt Soundwave's hand on his neck again before a finger dipped underneath his collar armor in a quick caress. Jazz was alert in an instant and grabbed the mech's hand, twisting it into a painful lock.

Soundwave grunted and bent at the waist to try and lessen the tension on his creaking wrist and elbow joints. "Jazz, starting to rust," he pointed out and lifted the offending finger up to show the copper colored condensation that he had scooped off from under his armor.

Jazz shoved him away with the little strength he could muster, which, admittedly, wasn't much as his energy levels reached 18%. Vaguely, he noticed the energon shunt attached to his neck and the cube it was draining from resting on the floor next to him. Apparently Soundwave hadn't trusted him to feed himself. Honestly, he didn't either—his tanks were rolling uncomfortably still, even though the interrogation had happened two days ago. Or, at least he thought it was two days—it was hard to tell. "Maybe you shouldn't have parked your ship under the fragging ocean," he muttered and sank back against the wall, releasing his hand as he did. The blue mech stepped towards him again and Jazz flinched, unable to stop the response even as he hated himself for his weakness.

Soundwave stopped and Jazz felt the guilt that edged along the bond before the mech could abort it. "Soundwave will not hurt you," he said.

Jazz laughed, a harsh sound even to his own audios. "Tell that to my head that you tried to fuck," he spat. "You knew it wouldn't work—why try? I will say, I really enjoyed the pain you were feelin', but compared to the pain _I_ was feelin', it wasn't worth it."

A displeased rumble made its way out of the blue mech, but he didn't respond. Ignoring Jazz's feeble protests, he knelt back down and double checked that the energon shunt on his neck hadn't been pulled free. "Jazz needs to rinse," he says. "Rust not severe. Can be cleared with solvent."

The saboteur's optics narrowed behind his visor, turning the blue light into slits. "Why do you care?" he asked. "Or is it a new policy in the Decepticon Code that actually allows for humane treatment of prisoners of war? Funny, I didn't get the memo."

Soundwave ignored him detached the spent energon shunt before he grabbed him under the arm, pulling him to his feet. His energy levels have been raised to a stable 25%, but it wasn't enough for him to be able to effectively fight back. He still struggled obstinately, trying to make every little thing difficult for the mech, even though it was more for catharsis than anything. The cell door was unlocked and Soundwave walked him out of the claustrophobic confines, into a narrow hall that would lead them out of the brig.

Jazz frowned, a thrill of fear rushing up his backstrut. In the brig, he knew what to expect, but as he was led out into the lower deck of the Nemesis, all bets were off. "No really, why come down here? It's not your job—Hook's the one who's supposed to be monitoring my energy levels and Ramjet's the one scheduled for guard duty. But look at that, he's so conveniently absent."

No falter in Soundwave's tread, no response at all.

"I know that your Lord and Master wouldn't dare let me go a moment unguarded. Just think of the mayhem I could cause?" he continued. "Did Megatron hand me over to you as a reward? Let you have your bondmate back for one more frag? Such a _benevolent _leader he is."

"Silence," he said. "Jazz is Soundwave's responsibility, no one else's."

Jazz sneered. "Just like the good ol' days," he spat and tried to jerk his arm out of the blue mech's grip. Soundwave's hand tightened, half lifting him off the ground as he led him through the halls. Jazz struggled for a moment longer, but his energy readings persistently warned him to desist with the usual threats of stasis and system lag. Finally, he relaxed as much as he was able to and fell into step beside the taller mech. He needed to choose his battles and a simple one-upping in an empty hall with nothing but the security cameras to witness was not a worthwhile one.

When they passed the public washracks, Jazz frowned. "I thought I was going for a rinse?"

Soundwave remained silent, but the grip on his arm tightened slightly. It took Jazz only a moment longer to realize where they were heading, and when he did, he dug his heels into the ground. "I'm not going to your fragging quarters," he snapped and finally managed to twist his arm out of the mech's grip. He stumbled back a few steps, one hand braced against the wall.

"Jazz, prefer to use the public washrooms? Shifts will be changing out soon. Undoubtedly other Decepticons will be present," Soundwave said.

Jazz swore under his breath, hand curling into a fist where it rested against the wall. He wanted to think that the mech was lying, but he didn't know the current schedule rotation. History had taught him all too well what happened when a group of Cons caught a mech when he was vulnerable and he had no desire to bring that upon himself. Soundwave seemed to sense his thoughts and offered a hand again.

"My quarters preferred?" he asked, voice distinctly smug through the filter of his synth.

"Asking whether I prefer your quarters to being molested by a bunch a soldiers—I hope you feel proud that you win that contest," Jazz snapped but pushed away from the wall. He nudged the mech's hand out of the way and kept walking through the hall. Soundwave followed close behind, poised and ready to subvert him. It was humiliating—felt like he was being led on a leash with Soundwave ready to tug back if he got too far ahead. But Jazz had suffered far worse humiliations in the past, so he dealt with it silently.

They reached Soundwave's quarters without another word spoken and Jazz didn't waste any time keying in the mech's security code. He cast a smirk over his shoulder, as though daring the mech to ask how he knew before heading directly for the washroom, not bothering to wait for permission. He wanted to get this over with.

He couldn't help but cast a quick glance around Soundwave's quarters. Megatron definitely did well by his officers and he was sure that Soundwave's symbiotes had granted him a larger area than most. Speaking of symbiotes, he was almost surprised to see that not a single one of them was present—at least not visibly. Something told him that at least one of them was here, watching to be sure Jazz didn't try anything. If he was in better condition, he would have most certainly considered it, but with his energy only a quarter full and him feeling sick to his tanks from the sudden energy influx, he decided to save himself the embarrassment of a certain defeat.

He locked the door as soon as it closed and stepped into the shower, shivering as the first burst of cold solvent hit him. The gentle torrent warmed rapidly and Jazz rested his hand against the wall, enjoying the sensation as it lessened the numerous aches and pains on his frame. He watched the rust tinted water circle down the drain until it finally started to clear, but still had no urge to move. Slowly, he sank down to the shower floor, lowering his head so the solvent trickled down his neck and under his collar armor like a gentle caress.

One hand rubbed over his chassis, over his spark that ached with a near persistent throb. He wanted to believe it was just a fluke, something brought on by too much stress, or from his interrogation, but he knew it was because of his proximity with Soundwave. For vorns, it had seemed like they would never have to see each other again—the war had split them to opposite sides of the planet, and then, after the Exodus, had taken them even further apart. There had even been times where Jazz could almost forget about the nagging tug in his spark, forget about the constant sense that he was missing something.

A knock sounded on the door and he sighed, opening his optics to glare through the curtain of solvent. "I've decided that I'm stayin' in here for the rest of my stay in the Nemesis. You can find a different washrack to use," Jazz called out.

Soundwave didn't give a response but as soon as Jazz heard the lock on the door disengage, he shot back to his feet. The blue mech stepped into the room, vainly attempting to brush the steam from his visor as he reached over and manually turned off the solvent. Jazz backed away from his hand like it was infected.

"Out," Soundwave ordered.

Jazz stayed where he was, and when Soundwave reached for him, he smoothly dipped under his arm and stepped behind him, dripping solvent over the floor. Even as slow as he felt, he was still faster than Soundwave. "A'ight, fine. Not open to the idea of having me as a roommate again. I'll just go back to rotting in my cell. Thanks again for that, by the way. I've so wanted to come back to the Nemesis for a vacation," he said.

Soundwave remained silent and took another step towards him, reaching for his arm. Jazz danced out of his way again, into the main room, deliberately flinging more solvent off of his armor. "I don't think I've properly thanked you yet. So here, _thank you_, Soundwave, for forcing me here. I hope you're proud of the cruel piece of slag you've become."

The light of Soundwave's visor darkened and Jazz felt the flare of anger over the bond, more potent than he'd ever felt before. Apparently he wasn't the only one being affected by the close proximity. Jazz backed away as the mech stormed towards him, but couldn't avoid the vice that clenched down on his spark, stopping him in his tracks. The face mask slid away as his hand wrapped around Jazz's neck, pinning him to the wall behind him.

"Jazz dares to speak to me about cruelty?" he asked, voice quiet with rage. The grip on his spark relented and Jazz's hands flew to Soundwave's as the blue mech's grip tightened. He dug his fingers into his wrist joint, but Soundwave didn't let go, pressing him harder against the wall.

His spark pulsed at the proximity even as he bared his dentals. "Don't you try to turn this back on me, you son of a glitch," he growled. "_I_ wasn't the one planning a genocide behind my mate's back!"

"You abandoned your family!" Soundwave said. "You abandoned the sparklings you helped create- you abandoned _me!_ After all I did for you-"

Jazz finally managed to get his feet up and kick the mech away. He panted and rubbed his neck, vents whirring hard with something that wasn't quite exertion. "What, you mean help organize Praxus? You mean lettin' them _destroy_ me after I came clean to you? Yet another thing I need to thank you for! I told you everything I'd done before I left, not that you deserved it. And what did you do? You handed me over to Megtro-"

"I helped you escape!" Soundwave shouted. He winced and was quiet for a moment, as though checking to be sure no one else could have heard, which Jazz realized, he probably was. He continued on in a quieter voice. "Who else would have glitched the energy bars so you could pick the lock? Who _else_ would have called one of the guards away so you would have no issue getting around the other?"

Jazz stared at the mech and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed, a tremor rushing up his backstrut as he thought back to that day. "You're lying," he said at last.

Soundwave closed the distance between them again and Jazz flinched, though the mech only grabbed his shoulders. "Not this time," he said, sounding exhausted and Jazz could feel the truth of his words. He looked at him, face a mask a pain. "Do you even realize how _impossible _it was for me to watch what they did to you? Megatron said he would be merciful—I didn't realize that that _was _his style of mercy."

Jazz looked away and pushed off Soundwave's unresisting hands. He paced the length of the room, optics wide behind his visor, his tank a mess of knots even as his spark throbbed. "Why?" he asked, looking at the floor instead of him.

He heard the mech's heavy and familiar steps behind him. "You're my mate," he murmured, lips far too close to his audio. "Even then. Even now."

Jazz crossed his arms over his burning chassis, fingers gripping hard enough to dent. "Frag you," he muttered, unable to stop his voice from shaking, his resolve faring no better. "My mate wouldn't have killed innocent mechs—_my_ mate wouldn't have organized the slaughter of sparklings just after creatin' his own. No, you are _not_ my mate."

Pain radiated over the bond, as clear as if it had just been forged. His own spark throbbed in sympathy, age old urges to helpcomfortprotectlove flooding back in a rush that made him turn and face the mech that had meant so much to him. The hurt in the blue mech's stance was almost palpable and when he reached out a hand and gently laid it against Jazz's chassis, he couldn't bring himself to pull away, no matter how much his mind screamed at him. His spark blazed, begging, pleading, consuming until every thought was pushed from his mind, narrowed down to the single hand resting against his chassis.

"Meister…"

His name was his undoing. They crashed against each other, as though the bond was whole, both of them anticipating what the other might do. It wasn't gentle—it was harsh and desperate, their lips fighting against one another rather than just meeting. Dentals clanked and bit while hands scratched and grabbed until both of them ended up on Soundwave's berth with no knowledge or care of which one of them had led them there.

Jazz found himself on top, straddling the mech's waist, feeling his heated frame under him like an old memory. Soundwave's hips arched up in a silent plea, lifting Jazz's lighter frame easily as his hands gripped his waist. His hand found the seam on Soundwave's chassis and the touch was all he needed for his armor to fold open, panes peeling back to reveal his spark, hidden under the mess of wires from the signal dampener.

The sight of it brought Jazz back to himself, forced him to remember where he was and what he was doing. What would happen, he wondered, if he took the dampener off? It would be so easy to reach out and tear it away. Would it kill them? Jazz tried to decide if he cared as he reached a shaking hand towards it.

Soundwave's vents hitched and he jolted upright, grabbing Jazz's wrist hard enough to dent. The panic was there, radiating through the strained bond they shared and Jazz's optics narrowed behind his visor. Soundwave hesitated for a moment, as though mourning the moment that had been lost before pushing Jazz off of him. His chassis snapped closed and he pressed a hand over it as he got to his feet, facemask snapping back into place.

"Jazz will return to cell," he said, his monotone hiding the clipped tone Jazz knew was there.

Jazz nodded. "Yeah, that's probably best... for both of us."

* * *

><p>'Well,' Mirage messaged, not about to risk speaking where he was. 'That was… interesting. When I first got my electro-disruptor installed, I certainly had <em>ideas<em> of using it for this purpose, but now I'm simply feeling a little traumatized.'

Bumblebee had his head buried in his hands, optics reluctantly peering out to watch the live feed from Mirage's optics. "I... Primus," Bumblebee said, unable to really comprehend what he had just witnessed.

Mirage shifted carefully, the combination of well-oiled joints and long, painful practice allowing him to move silently as he carefully retreated through the vents. He wanted to get as far from Soundwave's quarters as he could, preferably to a scalding shower where he could attempt to cleanse his optics. _Soundwave_, Jazz? Really? He had always thought the mech had better taste than that.

He had followed them to be sure Soundwave wasn't going to, well, _attempt_ anything with Jazz and had gotten much more than he bargained for. 'Well, my great and wise CO, what in Primus' name do we do with that information?' Mirage asked, double checking the encryption on their communication. He dropped down from the vent into a small service closet that he had made into a suitable hiding place to give his disruptor a chance to recharge.

Bumblebee moaned into the comm., burying his face in his hands, elbows rested on Jazz's desk. "I have no idea," he said. "Honestly, not a fragging clue. Jazz, you _moron_..."

Mirage sighed and sat on top of the deactivated cleaning drone, checking his disruptor's charge. 46% was decent, but he'd rather have it full before he continued on. 'Please stop banging your head against the desk, the noise feedback is hurting my audios,' he said.

Bumblebee sighed and did as asked, head resting against the desk. "Sorry. I dunno, 'Raj- do we tell Optimus?" he asked. "I mean... it's obvious why he kept it secret. Bonded to a Decepticon- there's _no way_ he would have been accepted as an Autobot if everyone had known. Especially being bonded to _Soundwave_." He shuddered at the thought. Even now that he'd heard what Soundwave's voice sounded like without the synth, he couldn't shake the thought that it must be like interfacing with a speak and spell. He shuddered and banished that thought as quickly as he could.

Mirage ran a hand over his helm. 'I'm convinced that Primus has a cruel sense of humor,' he said. 'How else could they have climbed so far into the ranks, even _survived_ this long, only to both end up on Earth. The odds are...'

"Astronomical?" Bumblebee finished for him. "They're both too damn resourceful- that definitely helped their odds. Regardless, that still doesn't help us with the question of what to do now."

'And now you understand why I didn't want your position,' Mirage pointed out. 'I guess the real question is—do _you_ still trust Jazz?'

Bumblebee sighed. "With my life _and_ the Autobot cause," he said, resolute. "Just because he was bonded doesn't change that fact—if anything, it reinforces it. I mean _Primus_... he left his bond mate for us."

Mirage nodded, glad to find that he and Bumblebee felt very much the same. 'Not everyone will be as charitable as us,' he pointed out.

"I know," Bumblebee muttered. "We have to be careful who we share this with. I don't want to make Jazz into a pariah. We'll never get him back if people knew."

Mirage sighed and checked his electro-disruptor. 78%. 'Prowl's the one who approved this little mission,' he pointed out.

Bumblebee winced at that. "And he's also one of the strictest upholders of Autobot law, which this whole thing breaks on... way too many levels to count," he said. "No, we can't tell him." He moaned quietly and rubbed his optics. "I think the only mech I trust this with is Optimus. I think if anyone _deserves_ to know, it's him. Then he can share it as he sees fit."

Mirage ran a hand over his helm. 'It's your decision to make,' he said. He checked his progress and found it at 91%. Good enough. 'Soundwave will be back in his quarters by now. I'm progressing to phase two.'

Bumblebee nodded and got to his feet. 'You're going it alone from here. I'm going to go find Optimus.'

Mirage activated his electro-disruptor before carefully climbing back into the vents, scanners alert for any sort of sensor. The Cons had gotten sneaker—he'd almost tripped a motion sensor earlier. 'Good luck,' he said. 'You couldn't pay me enough to trade places with you.'

Bumblebee snorted. "Yeah, thanks for that," he muttered and got to his feet. "Good luck to you as well. And punch Jazz in the stomach for me when you get to him."

Mirage smirked. 'I will relish it. Over and out.'


End file.
